Intense
by I'm With Gameboy
Summary: From the time he had stopped being Mihael and had started being Mello, I was fascinated by him beyond any sane boundary. MattxMello, Name Spoilers, Sex&Rape, Drug Usage, Cutting&SuicideAttempts. !Chapter Three Up!
1. Prologue

**I'm thinking about deleting this story...review if you want it to stay alive.**

**Warnings:** Name Spoilers, Rape, Mentions of Rape, Cutting, Suicide Attempts

Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note, or Matt and Mello.

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Mihael came with his own warning label – skin tight black leather and three inch boots that screeched out: **Don't Fuck With Me**. I had expected the restroom to be empty when I had charged in, small droplets of blood still hanging from my lip. Football – not my thing. I never expected Mihael Keehl(TheMihael Keehl) to be standing there, unlit cigarette dangling precariously from his lips as he asked me for a light.

I had to remind myself not to gawk. At the time I wasn't sure which surprised me more, that Mihael thought I smoked, or that _he_ was actually talking to _me_. But now that I look back on it, I agree on the latter. From the time Mihael had transformed from an anti-social second best ninth grader to a sex god of an tenth grader, I was fascinated by him beyond any sane boundary.

I stared up at him, my eyes stalling on the bright red rosary that stood out from the rest of his black attire. I'd heard a lot about Mihael. I'd heard that he'd given head to half of the foot ball team before school had even started. I'd heard that he'd been charged for DUI and had vomited on the arresting officer, only to have gay sex in the holding tank. I'd heard that he'd cracked a vase over Linda's father's skull just because the old geezer told him that he couldn't smoke weed in his house. I'd heard that he'd raped Nate Rivers out of jealous spite, then beat him into keeping his mouth shut. I'd heard many things about Mihael Keehl, and I believed them all.

In response to his cocky smirk, I made eye contact. In the dark(almost black) blue of his eyes – like the ocean after a storm, just as fatal and wild- I expected to see some sign of anger. (After all, I had never answered his question. And no one,** no one**, gets away without answering Mihael Keehl.) But I didn't. Under the lazy half-mooned lids, his eyes were calm and soothing. And in them, a glint of both protection and danger danced.

"So tell me," He paused to take a drag of his cigarette (so he had a light after all...) "Do you know who I am?"

_You're Mihael Keehl, who had sex in a police station, you're Mihael Keehl who attacked Linda's father, you're Mihael Keehl who raped a fourteen year old boy because you felt like it._

"Miha-"

"It's Mello."

He took a long drag and exhaled evenly, his head tossed back against the ugly blue bathroom wall. It suited him, the smoking I mean. It complimented his looks and it complimented his personality. Complimented everything about Miha- Mello.

"You?"

He held the cigarette out for me. As I took it, a seductive curl of smoke rose from his lips like a ghost between us.

"...Matt."

He nodded once, a smug smirk sliding onto his lips.

"Well, _Matt_," His smirk only grew at my shudder. "You gunna let that burn out?"

I let my eyes flicker to the cigarette in my hand for a few seconds before darting them back to Mello.

"_Mello_," I tried out the new name, "I don't smoke."

Half of me hoped he wouldn't speak again, I was almost certain that if he did I would become much too light headed to think of a response; but my other half was begging for me to give in and get drunk off his aura. His lips curved up into an airy smile, but much to my relief and dismay, he didn't say anything more. He tapped another cigarette out of the crumpled paper package and popped it into his mouth, a clear statement that he wasn't going to leave. I stared down at the lit cigarette in my hand.

Yes, I didn't smoke. But there's a first time for everything.

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_To be Continued..._

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I know it's short, but it's the prolog xD the next chapter will be longer and better. I apologize.  
-Jennifer


	2. Maybe

_**Author Note: **Wow. This took a while, didn't it? Right after chapter one I decided that It'd be best if I found a Beta. Guess what; I did. 83 She's amazing and much more of a help than I could have thought. We actually went to Borders for a few weeks straight, trying to get out of our writers blocks. It never really worked, but somehow we managed to squeeze out this chapter. Everyone give a round of applause to my lovely beta: Tasteful Chocolate!_

_This chapter actually turned out to be a disappointment... but please, stick with me. I'm trying as well as I can to even out grades and writing, AND FUCKING DEBATE. Oh...sorry. It's just, Debate is so FREAKISHLY time consuming. So -sigh- please try and enjoy our work..._

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Chapter two:  
**Maybe.**

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Mello doesn't sneak into the restroom to smoke anymore. I would know because I do. I don't really blame myself for doing this, because the fuckers at school make it way too easy - especially when I have a 3.8 grade point average, and no one suspects that I'm popping joints in the restroom. It's not that I enjoy smoking; it's alright and I can live without it, but I just can't pass the possibility that _maybe _Mello will walk in. _Maybe_ he will saunter over to me with that smug smirk floating across his lips, and _maybe_ he'll ask what I'm doing. _Maybe_ I'll tell him that I'm just skipping class to save myself from the geography test that I'm obviously going to bomb, but _maybe _that's a lie because I can't shake the feeling that I'm only doing this for Mello.

_Maybe_.

I take a final drag of my half finished cigarette before tossing it into a puddle of yellowish liquid that had pooled over the moldy tile next to the sinks. I exhale quickly, trying the hardest I can to smog over the stale bathroom air with the spicy smell of smoke. I do this often. Smoking, I mean. I take a few steps toward the door before the rushed sound of steps catches my attention.

"Shit!"

Some nerd had probably tipped off Mr. Wammy about the tendrils of smoke slipping through the bathroom and into the hallways; so now he's here to investigate.

I spin around quickly and head for one of the dingy stalls, yanking open the door and propping myself into a crouch over the toilet seat. I take a split second to realize that this is one of the cleaner stalls – the toilet actually being flushed and minimal writing coating the walls. I make a grab for the stall's lock before the sudden sound of the restroom door smacking against the wall tells me that someone has already barged into the sloppy room. I jerk my hands back and place them on my knees, trying my hardest not to topple over. Now all I have to do is pray that he doesn't open my unlocked stall.

I try to keep my breathing steady as the thumping of footsteps pass me, but I have no choice but to gasp when a blood soaked rag is thrown onto the floor spitefully, causing the drenched cloth to splatter small drops of crimson across the floor. The drops of crimson mixed in with the suspicious yellowy fluids found on the restroom floor. It created a nasty rust-like color; I wish I hadn't seen that.

I must've been leaning forward unconsciously, because in a futile attempt to steady myself, I push both of my hands against the stall's door; the fact that it is unlocked slips my mind. With an ungraceful plop, I stumble out of the stall and fall face first into the bloodied washcloth.

I jolt up as quickly as I can, trying not to hurl at the disgusting combination of blood dripping down my face, and the uncomfortable wetness of my shoes that had been plunged into the toilet bowl via my fall. Before I can jump off the floor and sprint out of the room, I'm jerked off the floor by the top of my head, and thrown against the mirror with a force that nails my eyes shut. Yeah, I know. Ouch.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

The malice dripping from his tone is almost unbearable to listen to, and I'm reluctant to open my eyes and face him. When I do though, first thing that I noticed was the fair amount of blood seeping through left side of his face. So that's where the bloodied rag came from. It takes a few seconds, but under all the carnage I catch a glimpse of cobalt eyes.

"Mello?"

He flinches back at my voice; even though I am fairly sure it had sounded raspy and low – barely a whisper. His grip on my hair tightens generously as he yanks me upward and presses his body to mine, eliminating any thoughts of escaping from my mind. What comes to my mind though, was how wrong our position looks.

And even though I am scared as hell of Mello, my morbid fascination drives me to touch his wound. I trace it all the way from his sticky blood soaked bangs to his mangled bare chest, then following the waterfall of blood to his traditional low-cut pants. He flinches at my touch and uses his other hand to grab my chin, directing my attention to his furious eyes.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Matt?"

What am I doing here? What is he doing here!? Sheesh, going to school when he's injured; what a weird guy. Does he really care about his grades that much?

With a burst of confidence seemingly coming from of nowhere, I manage to shoot back; "What the fuck are you doing here, Mello?"

With one swift jerk of his arm he pulls me forward, so close that I could feel his labored breath tickling my face.

"Don't fuck with me. Just ... get me outta here."

Then, he crumples to my feet.

--

With a lethargic sigh, I load Mello into the backseat of my car. After haphazardly sneaking Mello through the many halls of Wammy's, I had finally managed to lug him to the far side of the parking lot and into my car. I should get some kind of award; seeing on how I did all of this shirtless and sticky - thanks to Mello's nasty blood towel soaking through my shirt. Ha, shirtless and sticky... Yeah, I know I'm a perv.

A few incoherent words from Mello make me jump; I think for a second that someone has spotted me. But then I see Mello writhing against my upholstery and I know that for now, I'm in the clear. I can't help but jump at every sound he's making; today is not being kind to my nerves. I rip a cigarette out of its package and shove it into my mouth, chewing on the tip violently as I raid my pockets for a lighter. I smirk victoriously and hold the lighter in front of the cigarette, fully prepared to light it up, until it's snatched away by an angry gloved hand.

"Hey man, what the fuck!?" I spat, snapping my head up to the bastard who took my lighter away.

"Sir, there's no smoking aloud on school grounds."

"Aw, shit." I curse.

A cop. A bloody cop. I should have known better, the campus is swimming with them.

He eyes me warily, no doubt questioning why I'm shirtless and skipping class. I rack my brain for any sort of excuse.

"I - um, have a fever. The nurse sent me home." I glace down at my bare chest. "And, ya know...it's hot."

Smooth. Real smooth.

"Sir, can I see your school ID please?"

I sigh and drop the cigarette to the floor, tearing up the unlit paper with the heel of my shoe.

"Sorry. I don't have it on me."

The officer frowns and tucks my expensive lighter into his shirt pocket, an obvious sign that he is confiscating it. I bet it felt pretty snug right now, wedged between the cop's man boob and the thick winter fabric of his uniform.

"Sir, if I perform a body search on you, will anything prick me?"

I shoot my head towards him, his gruff voice pulling me out of my thoughts.

"What?"

"Do you have any needles on you?" he asked, voice rough. "I won't be happy if I get pricked with one."

"No, I don't have any needles on me! What do you take me for? A heroin addict?"

"I'm going to ask you to put both your hands on the hood of the car."

"Aw," I groan, reluctantly sticking both my hands on my car. "I just washed her."

Yeah, **her**. My car has a gender, and she's hot. The thought of Mello bloodying up my nice, clean, car seat makes me anxious to get him out.

"It'll only be a second."

He starts under my arms first, slipping his hands down to my pockets, which he digs through thoroughly, pulling out some Viceroy Cigarettes and my keys, slapping them on the hood of the car.

"Hey!" I hiss. "Be careful with those keys! You'll ding my car."

He ignores my comment and continues with his routine groping. And yes, if you are wondering, I feel violated.

When he finishes, He says something that makes the yogurt I had this morning curdle: "I'm going to search your vehicle, sir. To make sure you don't have any more illegal paraphernalia on you." He ushers, motioning toward the cigs.

"What!" I fume. "They're cigarettes! They're not illegal!"

He ignores my pleas, continuing over to the trunk of my car, muttering a low "Don't move, boy." before opening the unlocked car.

If he so much as opens the back door, Mello will topple out. Then he'll think I'm some sort of gay murderer who likes to rape blonds and slice them up during school hours. . . Okay, maybe he wouldn't think that exactly, but something along those lines. And you know what happens to jail bait in prison. . . Of course, I don't let the man boob see my inner turmoil. 'Cause you know, it wouldn't be called inner turmoil if it was shown to the public.

I make sure he is busily rummaging through the junk in the trunk(Haha, nice one Matt) before I pick up my keys, trying the hardest I can to stay quiet. I slowly crawl over to the driver's seat of my car and suck in a sharp breath. . .

_I can't believe I'm about to do this. . ._

I quickly jump in the car, shove the keys into the ignition, and close the door next to me. I push down on the gas pedal as soon as the beautiful sound of my engine roars though my ears. And as I speeding through the parking lot, my senses ravage me.

I hear Mello moan and slump onto the back seat. Oh God, is he gonna make it?

I feel gusts of wind hit my back. The trunk is still open.

I taste something salty pooling in my mouth. I'm almost biting my tongue off.

I see a long and confusing road in front of me. I can't remember whether I turn left or right.

I smell the tobacco slipping from my breath. I could really use a cigarette right now.

"Stop!"

I ignore the cop's yells and speed over traffic cones and speed bumps alike, chanting "Fuck, fuck, fuck." all throughout the drive to somewhere that's not school.

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_To be Continued..._

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_**Author Note: **Yo. Yes, I'm fully aware that the tenses have changed from Chapter One to Chapter Two. Chapter one acted as a PROLOGUE, therefore I got the crazy idea that it would be a good idea to write it in PAST TENSE. Through the rest of the story, Matt will be speaking in Present Tense. :D_

_My beta spent a while editing this, so I want to share the credit with _Tasteful Chocolate._Without her help, my story would be filled with terrible grammatical errors and an un-bearable ton of angst. She has included a fair amount of the comical relief in this chapter._

_Please Review if you liked chapter two!_


	3. Be Okay

**IT'S HERREEEEEEEEEE! It's a miracle. Q_Q Let's all celebrate and hug things!**

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Chapter Three:  
**Be Okay**

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And once again, my blissful luck is interrupted by the cruel bite of irony.

Blissful as in _Oh, Hell yeah! Mello, check. Bed, check. Mello in the bed, check._ But in a more outstanding perspective, irony as in _Oh, too bad his face is blown off._ You see, this moment had played out a lot smoother in my mind. I should be enjoying having a sweaty and unconscious Mello ruffling up my sheets, but instead I'm on the verge of dumping him out onto the street corner and out of my life. Because, really, I don't think I'm qualified to take care of a half dead teenage convict.

Do you see the problem here? Yes, I'm the one taking care of Mello, not the hospital. But it's not like I really had a choice... You see, during my frenzied drive away from the police, Mr. I-got-half-my-face-peeled-off had a sudden burst of energy. Enough energy to pounce up from his seat and strangle me, promising my death if I took him anywhere near a doctor. But that was two days ago, and still no sign of consciousness from Mello. I'm starting to regret taking him home.

I open the door to my room and mentally prep myself for another attack on my nerves. But as soon as I catch glimpse of dandelion hair, all my preparation crumbles away.

I press my lips together tightly and take a few listless steps to where Mello is resting. While I'm standing over the unconscious blond I send him a scowl, bending over to catch my fingers in his ragged bangs. I tug experimentally on the ends, flipping the blond strands over in my hand, examining the burnt tips and torn edges, searching for a clue as to how in hell Mello managed to get such a serious injury. Pfft. I push the thoughts away from my mind. Hadn't I always known he was capable of anything?

Through the mess of hair I catch a hint of the damage done to his face. It's been a while since I've checked how his wound is healing. I can still remember it from before, red and angry, trailing from his forehead onto his stomach... On the count of three, I suck in a jagged breath and brush the remaining hair from his face. I can feel the sinking in my chest intensify as I run my fingertips over the stretch of bumpy scarred skin; a blemish on the face of perfection.

"You really are an idiot, Mihael."

I sit on the bed and tangle my hands further in Mello's hair, attempting to smooth the frenzied hair down. But like a trigger, the second my fingers dance behind his ear, Mello jolts up and tosses me under him. The only thing that registers in my brain are his cold demanding eyes.

"What the fuck, Mello?"

It all comes out in a strangled yelp as I'm left a squirming bundle beneath Mello's warm bare chest. Short breaths slip past my lips as Mello's fingers work furiously over my jacket, pressing along the sensitive areas of my torso, leaving me helpless as I'm being searched for the second time this week. I steal glances up toward Mello's face and catch the "all business" expression glued to it. Regardless, his hands are working their way up my thighs and it's … nice. I try my hand at removing our proximities and yank my body to the side, and the second I come tumbling off the bed, Mello is dragged along with me.

I can feel my face glow red as I'm left staring down into Mello's dark blue eyes. I try my hand and explaining myself but the right words are lodged in my throat.

"I mean…"

I stay still, unable to find the words. Instead I remain positioned until Mello gives me a sign to move.

"Get off."

Good enough.

Hastily, I push myself up and off of Mello, leaning on the nearest stationary object to regain my balance.

"What the fuck was that?" He spat, sitting up from the floor.

"You were the one who attacked me." I frown. "I should be asking you."

"I didn't attack you. It was a quick firearms search, stop being stupid."

"Right," I scoff. "Like I'd be carrying any grenades on me."

"You'd be surprised." He growls.

I raise an eyebrow, mouth poised open, ready to retaliate. Mello just snarls and pushes himself off the floor, wasting no time sweeping my room with piercing azure eyes.

"Where's my shirt."

I exhale evenly. It's a demand, not a question. Looking around the messy room, I search for any sign of leather. Blinking down at the shiny fabric resting over my computer chair, I walk over slowly and pick up the singed vest.

"Ya know, it's ruined." I say flatly, tossing the burnt material toward him.

Catching it expertly, he zips up the vest, ignoring me and wincing as it rubs over his sensitized flesh. I guess that's when it hit him. With a furrowed brow, he lifts his own fingers to caress the torn flesh of his face, gritting his teeth all the while. I take a small step forward in an attempt to calm him down, to tell him that he shouldn't be up and running just yet. It doesn't work, however, because before I can even utter a word, he spins on his heel and saunters out into the hallway, muttering something about finding a mirror.

Well, this can't be good.

If I know anything at all, it's that people don't usually like waking up to find out that their _face is maimed_. And if I know anything at all about **Mello**, it's that he's not exactly the calmest person in the world.  
So if we put two and two together we eventually come to the conclusion that I'm probably going to be murdered in the next five minutes.

Cheers.

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_To be continued..._

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**Review for a chapter four? :3 Hurm?**


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